


The Noise of Waters

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Depression, Drama, M/M, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, Past Torture, Poor Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Scars, Sex, Sexual Dysfunction, Slow recovery, protective Qui-Gon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-08-24 14:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16641582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are in exile together on Tatooine. Obi-Wan suffered greatly at the hands of Darth Vader. It is a slow recovery.





	1. Chapter 1

All day I hear the noise of waters  
Making moan,  
Sad as the sea-bird is when, going  
Forth alone,  
He hears the winds cry to the water's  
Monotone. 

The grey winds, the cold winds are blowing  
Where I go.  
I hear the noise of many waters  
Far below.  
All day, all night, I hear them flowing  
To and fro.

-James Joyce

————-

In the desert, time moved at a different pace, without seasons, without relief. The heat could kill you, and the old-timers all had stories of someone they knew who died because they were too stupid to stay inside on those days when the air burned your lungs and blistered your skin. It never escaped Qui-Gon: for Obi-Wan, each day was just like that. He would not go into Mos Eisley when Qui-Gon made his regular trips for supplies. He never asked for anything. He only went outside at night, with his robe gathered over his head.

Time was different here, a day that never ended. It was the first day, the hundredth day.

Obi-Wan seemed most focused on the last day. He was always in pain, and Qui-Gon wondered if the occasionally desperate edge in his old Padawan’s voice was a longing for death, rather than fear of it. In those moments, Qui-Gon would cradle Obi-Wan’s face in his hands. _“The Force is with you. The Force is with me.”_ He would whisper, and press soft kisses to thick scars. _“The Light is here with us. It can never be extinguished.”_

Qui-Gon stood with his hands on his hips on the desolate boundary of their homestead. He watched the horizon tremble, palest blue melting into palest ocher. The suns stared back like a pair of tilted, pupilless eyes. Late afternoon was the worst, but it meant the night was coming. Night was reprieve. Sometimes he could hear birds chirping in the arid darkness. 

He turned back into the adobe. “I suppose I should go to the mercantile tomorrow. I’ll leave before daybreak.”

Obi-Wan was sitting by the window, at the little table. He glanced up at Qui-Gon. “And come back after nightfall, or else--”

“What would I do all those hours?” Qui-Gon asked, pulling his long hair back into a knot. He felt the itch of sand in his scalp. 

“Get a drink at the cantina. Bet on the podraces.” 

Qui-Gon flinched, but with his back turned to the other man. He pulled a pitcher of tea from the chiller. He remembered drinking hot tea with Obi-Wan. Even as a boy, Obi-Wan was particular about his tea; it needed to be strong, dark and hot. Now he wanted everything to be cold, even his bath water. Qui-Gon carried two cups to the table and sat in front of Obi-Wan. “Come with me. It will do you good.”

Obi-Wan grunted quietly and sipped his tea. 

“Well, it would do _me_ good.” Qui-Gon drummed his fingers on the cracked tabletop. He watched Obi-Wan and ran his tongue along his teeth. “I worry about you when I’m gone.”

Shadow drifted over Obi-Wan’s grey eyes. “I’m not a Padawan anymore. It’s hard to believe I ever was.”

“I can believe it. You were an obstinate apprentice and now you are an obstinate--”

“Invalid?” Obi-Wan offered, and crossed his arms. “Shut-in?”

“Your legs work. Oloo can carry us both, especially since you look like you’ve lost weight since this morning.” 

Their life now was a skewed version of their earlier years together. Qui-Gon woke Obi-Wan to meditate, they ate a small meal and went over simple katas, then worked on the adobe’s upkeep and completed any necessary chores, like feeding the eeopie. Before, they moved from world to world, assignment to assignment. Now they were devoted to a singular mission. 

Watch over the boy.

They could not fail.

Qui-Gon drained his cup. “If I make flatbreads, will you eat them?”

“No,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Will you check on him tomorrow?”

It was the only subject that improved Obi-Wan’s mood, reminded Qui-Gon of the spirited man he once knew. “I was planning to. Luke would be excited to see you. He asks about you.”

“How would he even know who I am? Do you remember the people you met once as an infant?”

Qui-Gon reached across the table, touching Obi-Wan’s arm before he could snatch it away. “If I had met you, then maybe.” 

Obi-Wan pulled down his sleeves. 

“You don’t need to hide those from me, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon reminded him. He had seen them when the wounds were fresh. Dreamed of those wounds still, the exposed nerves, incarnadine muscles and mottled flesh. “And I tell him about you. He just turned two. He would be happy to have another friend. It can be very isolating out here.”

“Can it?” Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow, and a shade of his old sarcasm surfaced. “Besides, I thought Owen Lars barely tolerated you on your own.”

“You are exceedingly more charming than I am.”

Obi-Wan smiled slightly. “Perhaps if you combed your hair…”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “I would comb it if you would braid it.”

———

He made the flatbreads. Obi-Wan ate half of one, although they were dry and tasted mostly of flour, then slipped away to the sleep couch.

Qui-Gon lowered the lights and unfastened the leather tie in his hair. The adobe was small, with walls and floors of bleached synstone, most likely built and abandoned by a fledgling moisture prospector. When Qui-Gon came across it, the hut was empty save for dust and a broken dish. He had hauled a second-hand mattress from a generous neighbor (kilometers away) and pushed it into a corner of the room. In the beginning, Obi-Wan had been marooned in that bed, his raft in a sea of uncertainty and pain. Qui-Gon did what he could, but he had never been a healer. He could not prevent the scars. 

If Obi-Wan blamed him for that, or anything else, he hid the resentment well. 

_He should blame me. He did not want Anakin trained. I made him. He did not want to come here with me. I made him._

Yoda had not wanted Obi-Wan to accompany Qui-Gon to Tatooine either. The ancient Master thought the surviving Jedi should spread throughout the galaxy. But then Anakin had…

“You are brooding, Master.” Obi-Wan said, curled on his side. “Why do you even try? You know I’m better at it.”

Qui-Gon snorted, sitting on the edge of the sleep couch. “I am your attentive student in the brooding arts, though I could never hope to surpass my teacher. Now, you said you would braid my hair.”

Obi-Wan remained folded in on himself. “You said you would comb it first.”

“I combed it with my fingers.”

“It looks unwashed.”

“I didn’t think I should waste the water.” Qui-Gon settled further back on the bed and crossed his legs, hissing at the objection from his joints. “Will you really begrudge an old man for wanting his hair braided?”

Obi-Wan muttered some curse and the mattress shifted as Qui-Gon felt him sit up. “You are not old.” Obi-Wan said, quietly, taking the long hair and separating it into sections.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. Obi-Wan used to plait his hair after terrible Council sessions, and then let Qui-Gon undo and then reweave his Learner’s braid. How soothing it had been, to feel those fingers work, to reaffirm the symbiosis of their commitment to each other. He breathed in, out. The Force flowed between them, like water, like peace. 

“Blast it,” Obi-Wan said, suddenly dropping the rope of hair halfway through. 

“It’s alright. Put your hands on my shoulders. It will pass.”

He felt the agonizing tension in Obi-Wan’s fingers. 

“On my shoulders.” Qui-Gon urged. “The Force is with you. The Force is with me.” Slowly, Obi-Wan complied, and Qui-Gon laid his long fingers over the trembling hands. “That’s it.” He knew the man was more frustrated by his limitations than by the physical discomfort of the nerve damage. “The saber wound from Naboo still pains me. It will sneak up when I’m not expecting it, and leave me doubled over. But lesser, lesser all the time. And I learned to tolerate it long ago.”

He knew Obi-Wan like he knew his own heart. Obi-Wan would read more into his words than he intended. 

“How can I tolerate this, Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan whispered behind him.

Like his own heart. 

Qui-Gon kneaded the tight hands on his shoulders. “By living. By serving the Light and protecting that child.”

He heard a hitching intake of breath and closed his eyes. This was what was nearly intolerable to him. Obi-Wan was reminded of Anakin’s hideous betrayal whenever his fingers clenched up or his mouth twitched. Qui-Gon suspected that was the real reason Obi-Wan avoided young Luke—he was afraid to see an unsullied version of Anakin Skywalker, the beloved and hated man, Padawan and Knight and Sith and torturer. It was true that Luke took after his father, from sun-streaked mop of blonde hair to striking blue eyes. During his rare visits to see the boy, Qui-Gon had to steel himself against the dagger of that resemblance.

Yet he knew Obi-Wan longed to see Luke, Anakin’s child. In a kinder universe, they would be family. 

“How can I protect him, if I cannot even braid hair?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Qui-Gon caressed his fingertips. “Because you will try again. All the pain lessens, lessens, and so you will grow stronger.” He squeezed the calmed hands, his own voice suddenly rough. “Stronger.”

Obi-Wan’s forehead touched the back of Qui-Gon’s neck. “Master.”

He did not move. They were Jedi, there was a Code, even with no Council to enforce those sacred tenants anymore. But he had bent those rules before. He would break them for Obi-Wan. So much had changed. And what had living by those rules earned any of them, in the end?

There was emotion. 

There was anger.

There was fear. 

He could not offer rebuke to this man. After what had been done to him, it was a wonder Obi-Wan survived. He used to tell that to Obi-Wan, during those endless nights of slow convalescence, tethering them together in the Force, weeping for his old Padawan. 

Padawans.

_“You are a wonder, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”_

“You forget how far you’ve come,” Qui-Gon said. Anakin had not been merciful. And Obi-Wan had wanted to die back then, begged Qui-Gon to leave him behind.

_“I should die with the others.”_

_“You should be at my side. If you die, I will die with you.”_

He had meant it, still meant it. Qui-Gon had lived through a Sith’s blade, and the holocaust of the Jedi Order. He would not be able to endure Obi-Wan’s death, the loss of such light. 

“Ride with me into town tomorrow.” He suggested again. “You can sleep on the way there, hm? Just like this.” Obi-Wan pressed to his back, the side of his face in the cradle of Qui-Gon’s neck. “It’s not so bad before sunrise. I would enjoy having someone to talk to, besides Oloo. And I know for a fact that Beru makes a compelling rootgrass tea.” 

“Oh yes,” Obi-Wan snorted. “‘Your apprentice became a murderous monster and now I must live in constant terror. Would you like one or two sugars?’”

“He was my apprentice as well.”

“But he didn’t _hate_ you. He didn’t—“ Obi-Wan faltered. “I’m tired.”

Qui-Gon looked out the window, seeing how the moon washed the sands in amber incandescence. For a second, his mind was filled with the image of the Temple spires glinting against the violet Coruscanti sky. He sighed. “Try once more. It doesn’t need to be perfect.”

He felt his hair lift in Obi-Wan’s careful grasp. Obi-Wan tried once more.

——

Qui-Gon leaned over the sink in the adobe’s cramped fresher. He had hung a little mirror on the wall, once Obi-Wan allowed it. He saw his reflection through the scuffs and cracks and smiled, inspecting the loose braid trailing down his chest. 

——-

A second bed was impractical. There was no room for it, and they were used to close quarters. Qui-Gon tossed his sweat-stiffened clothes into the corner. 

Obi-Wan was laying very still, but not asleep. He never removed his tunics or robe. The neat beard he had favored since early Knighthood was scraggly, shot through with wiry grey hairs. He still would not use the mirror himself, so Qui-Gon would trim it before Obi-Wan’s face and neck were completely consumed. In truth, Qui-Gon found he missed Obi-Wan’s smoother profile, but it was just sentimentality on his part. He slid under the thin blanket and passed a water skin to his companion. 

They drank and Qui-Gon waved off the last light.

Obi-Wan did not feel like he once did. He was all sharp angles and hollow curves. Qui-Gon rested his hand on Obi-Wan’s hip; the bone jutted against his palm. “If you come with me tomorrow, we could stop at the cantina. I think they have nerf steak. And that cake I brought you once.”

Of course, Obi-Wan had not eaten the cake. His appetite was swallowed up by the things he had seen, those weeks spent as Anakin’s—Vader’s—captive. His nights, too, were devoured. 

“I cannot go,” The words floated up in the darkness, a white smoke delicate in its vulnerability. “He would be afraid of me.”

Qui-Gon brushed the puckered skin along Obi-Wan’s ribs, beneath layers of cloth. “Why would he fear you?”

Obi-Wan stiffened. “You know why.”

“I know he is exceptionally strong in the Force. I know he will sense your kindness, the purity of your Light.”

“And he is two years old. What will he do when he sees—“

“He will be happy to see you.” Qui-Gon stroked the damp hair away from Obi-Wan’s temple. “You would be happy to see him. Or do you think you should not experience any happiness?”

Obi-Wan remained silent. Qui-Gon pulled him closer. The languid heat ensured they fell quickly to sleep.

——

He was awakened by moaning. Obi-Wan’s pain, like all other kinds, seemed to favor late hours. “Relax.” Qui-Gon imbued his touch with soothing currents of the Force.

Arms, hands, calves, spine. 

“You are water. You can find a way out. Even the smallest opening is enough. You are cool water flowing away from that which hurts you.” 

He did not turn on the lamp. As it had been decades before, he knew Obi-Wan found it easier to center himself with less distractions. 

Obi-Wan gripped his arm as a current of tension seized his body so intensely that Qui-Gon felt echoes of it down his back. 

“The Force is with you. The Force is with me.” He lightly clasped Obi-Wan’s head to his chest. “You are water. I am water. We are an ocean between us.”

“He...he…”

“He is powerless. You are Light, you are water. What evil can stand against those things?”

“But there is no water here.”

Qui-Gon kissed the top of Obi-Wan’s head. “Yet I could swim forever in the depths of your light, and never seek the shore.”

“Are you a poet now, Master?” 

“Even a bad poet is still a poet. So yes, I am a poet.”

He was rewarded with brief laughter, warm on his skin. 

He said more sweet things after that, comforting things, that as a Jedi Master would have been construed by others as weakness, or coddling. _Attachment_. Obi-Wan deserved to hear them. 

He had always deserved to hear them, and that was a consolation amid all their heartbreak.

Gradually, Obi-Wan fell slack against him, his breaths more measured. Qui-Gon exhaled, rubbing circles between the sleeping man’s shoulder blades as he stared into the night. 

The problem was that Anakin, _Vader_ , was not powerless. Qui-Gon still believed him to be the Chosen One, even now. His strength in the Force was undeniable. 

He could find them. He could find Luke. Though they cloaked their presence in the Force and maintained a low profile among the locals (in Obi-Wan’s case, a very, very low profile) Qui-Gon worried it was not enough. He had spent most of his life secure in his communion with the Living Force, unruffled. Confident. He was not used to looking over his shoulder, or the keening of his heart when he saw his Padawan struggle, or the animal terror that gripped him as he imagined Anakin returning for Obi-Wan. For the child. 

Because he knew Anakin did not let go of the people he loved, or felt entitled to. Obi-Wan did not understand that Anakin had loved him the most. Palpatine had understood and manipulated that love. Hurting Obi-Wan, torturing his dear friend and mentor, was Anakin’s last test before he could truly dawn the mantle of the Sith. 

No one could claim he failed.

Obi-Wan was a different man than The Negotiator, the revered General, the sardonic and reserved Jedi Master he had been a mere two years earlier. The scarring was extensive, face to feet, a permanent map of Vader’s brutality. But it was the thinness, the grey cast of once-blue eyes, that concerned Qui-Gon. 

And the weary weight he carried. And the refusal to go into public. And the way he would drift, to a place Qui-Gon could not go. 

He worried that he would return from town and find—-

_The Force is with me._

_The Force is with him._

——-

His pensive vigil became meditation and at some point he tumbled into a turgid sleep.

Qui-Gon surfaced to the sound of Oloo rustling. His body ached. He was old for exile, no matter how Obi-Wan tried to flatter him. A man his age was usually slowing down. But his work here was only beginning. There was so much more to _do_. He hoped that, eventually, he would not have to do it alone anymore. 

He carded his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, sensing awareness. “You will not go with me?”

No response, which was a response of its own. 

Qui-Gon heaved a heavy sigh. He relieved himself, washed his face and brushed his teeth, dressed in the dark silence. He collected water and ration bars in a rucksack, then returned to the sleep couch, leaning over Obi-Wan. “Answer your comm.”

He heard the nocturnal insects still buzzing outside the adobe. “Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan said finally, dutifully. 

———


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My endless thanks to antheiasilva for their incredibly helpful feedback and spending so much time listening to me moan and groan about this fic.

————

When Qui-Gon traveled among the dunes, he could not help but think of Anakin Skywalker as he had been, nine years old, struggling to keep up with him as they raced to the Queen’s starship. The desert’s restless winds still carried the young voice, full of hope and fear and potential. And wouldn’t Anakin hate that? 

Anakin despised Tatooine. It was one of the reasons they had brought Luke here. Even the formidable Sith possessed weaknesses, and to survive, they had to exploit the ones they knew. 

Qui-Gon did not think Vader would come to Tatooine again. He surely had plenty of henchman at his disposal. A Sith presence here would likely be the clone troopers, or a lesser officer in the Empire. Tatooine was small potatoes. But they could not afford to be unprepared. The unthinkable had already happened before. It could happen again. Which was why he bristled when Obi-Wan did not answer his comm, or at least lower his mental shields enough for Qui-Gon to be assured of his safety. 

If the hut was ambushed, Obi-Wan might not be able to protect himself. Just the thought hitched a breath in Qui-Gon’s throat. He was here to guard his former apprentice as much as he was here to guard Luke. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been a formidable warrior. A few years ago, he never would have thought—-

Qui-Gon tightened his hold on Oloo’s reins. The suns were beginning to crest over the horizon. Before long it would be warm enough to cause a cloying headache. An hour after that, and it would be warm enough to wretch or pass out. Still, he wished he could convince Obi-Wan to accompany him on these outings. He was a young man to already live like an old hermit.

As Mos Eisley appeared in the distance, he slipped out his comm. “Are you awake?” He said it quietly, as if he was still in bed beside Obi-Wan. He had learned after Obi-Wan’s torture that he preferred soft, calm tones. And they had agreed in the beginning of their exile that they would not use names over comm, and would speak only in general terms. No mention of missions, of Jedi, of Luke Skywalker. 

Of Darth Vader.

“Are you awake?” He tried again, with a subtle edge to his voice. “I will turn around.” He had done it before.

A delicate click of static. “Yes.”

Some tension eased off his shoulders. _Thank the Force_. “The vap needs work. You know I’m hopeless with machinery.” 

“Yes, M...Yes, I’ll do that.”

In the spaces where he expected a lightning quick comeback or good-hearted jibe, there was only flat, unspirited compliance. Anakin had taken that from Obi-Wan, from Qui-Gon who so deeply missed it. “Thank you. There is oatmeal and a little fruit left.”

Obi-Wan paused. 

Qui-Gon rode past a waifish bird, its feathers wilted and eyes sunken. He frowned and looked away. “And I saved you the last of the muja juice.” Silence. Oloo moved restlessly beneath him. He laid his hand against her fur. The heat was already soaking through his own skin. He imagined what it must have been like for Obi-Wan, to be scalded and blistered not by the indifference of nature, but deliberately, by the person he trusted above all others, and now to be exiled here, in this sunburned wasteland. 

_The boy is dangerous. They all sense it; why can’t you?_

“Ben”, he murmured into the commlink, throat dry, “Will you eat?” He hesitated, knowing it was manipulative, but knowing also that he needed to use whatever leverage he had against Obi-Wan’s gnawing shadows. “For me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

No long-suffering humor. Obi-Wan sounded….defeated. “I know this isn’t what you want. It honors me that you try.” He knew what Obi-Wan wanted. Sometimes his old Padawan’s shields wavered; sometimes he talked in his sleep. 

“Thank you,” the quiet voice answered, sounding far away. 

Qui-Gon’s purpose was to anchor that voice, draw Obi-Wan back to him, as Obi-Wan had once been the grounding force for his free spirited teacher, in those simpler years that seemed to belong to a different lifetime. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be here.”

It was the best thing Qui-Gon could hope to hear. 

——-

The market on Mos Eisley had been a learning curve for Qui-Gon. On his first visit, he let the merchant talk him into “the special”, a cold, gelatinous stew that was so revolting not even Oloo would touch it. Then he had bought a bushel of green vegetables, only to discover they turned black overnight. 

Now he was wary of deals, and more practical in his purchases. 

The fruit was never fresh, usually dehydrated and expensive. Simple spices were cheaper, and helpful when preparing the available meats and grains. Obi-Wan did not ask him about money. Bail Organa had given them a generous amount before they parted ways back on Coruscant, but Qui-Gon still worried, and used only a little at a time. As Jedi, they were used to a spartan way of life.

His only significant expense required a detour, to a dilapidated neighborhood past the market. Datha was sitting on a stool outside her humble home. When she saw Qui-Gon, her pale blue eyes glimmered, and she struggled to her feet. “I had a feeling you’d show yourself today!” She was an elderly human, with weathered tan skin and long, white braids. A canteen was forever strapped across her chest. 

Qui-Gon hurried forward to assist her, taking an arm. “Is it a good feeling, at least?” 

Datha chortled. “Ha! All the other ladies around here are so jealous they could spit. I’m the only one with a _handsome_ and _mysterious_ gentleman caller. And he pays me too!” She laughed again, and elbowed him in the side suggestively. “Of course it’s good. Most of the men around here look like a stick of bantha jerky rolled in dirt.”

Qui-Gon grimaced, chuckling softly as he helped Datha inside. 

Once past the threshold, she grabbed her cane and hobbled into the kitchenette. “How much you want?”

Qui-Gon sat at her table. He unscrewed the cap to his own canteen and took a long, soothing drink. His mouth always tasted of sand after riding into town. “A month’s supply, if you have it, Datha.” He set an empty canister on the table.

The stooped woman perked up as she snatched the canister and set to work. Datha eked out a living by mixing nutritional powders, mostly for the old folks who couldn’t eat enough on their own. Qui-Gon knew she charged her usual customers next to nothing, which was why he offered several times the price. 

Datha sat the full canister in front of him and sat across from him, rubbing her arthritic hands together. “Is your neighbor faring any better?”

Qui-Gon smiled through the unexpected flare of pain.. “Not as well as I’d like.” He admitted, relieved to say it to someone. “But this helps, my friend, thank you.” He tucked the powder into his rucksack. Qui-Gon credited Datha’s concoctions for restoring Obi-Wan’s strength during the earlier stages of recovery. Obi-Wan had not eaten for what seemed like months, but he would drink the power mixed with water. He remembered holding the water skin to Obi-Wan’s trembling mouth, muttering encouragement, each swallow a hard-won victory. He pushed the pile of credits across the table. 

Datha’s eyes widened. “You know I can’t---”

“You can, with my gratitude.” Qui-Gon patted her hand. 

“Goodness, he must be some neighbor.”

“He is.”

———

Beru Lars was waiting for him at the edge of the homestead. He climbed down from Oloo and dabbed the sweat from his forehead. 

She handed him a glass of clean, blissfully cold water.

She was a thoughtful, subdued woman. He had not known her before the Darkness came; Qui-Gon wondered if she had looked so pensive back then. Like Obi-Wan, her youth was hidden beneath a knitted brow and tense mouth. But Beru, unlike Obi-Wan, was still _happy_ —-Luke. The boy was curled against her hip, head resting on her bosom. 

“Owen is working,” she explained, eyes squinting against the twin glare of the suns. 

Qui-Gon nodded. Owen was always working when he came to visit. Beru’s husband had not been close to Anakin, had not really known him at all, or felt that sense of responsibility that came with blood ties. 

_We will take the boy, and love him. He is an innocent. You Jedi….you are not innocent in any of this._

Qui-Gon laid his hand on top of Luke’s head. It was like touching pure, soft Light, and for a fleeting moment, he was suffused with hope. _Obi-Wan should be here. My Padawan. See that Anakin was capable of Good. Here it is_. “Hello, little one.” 

Luke scrubbed at his nose with a tunic sleeve, grinning. 

Qui-Gon smiled back and glanced at Beru. “I’ve brought sweet biscuits.”

Beru tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to do that.”

But it felt good to do that. Bringing a child sweet biscuits was appreciated reprieve from the isolation of the adobe. He was reminded of gentle, sane things when he was with these people. 

“Do you want to come inside?” Beru asked, steadying Luke in the crook of her arm. Motherhood suited her. It would have suited Padmé. 

He looked at Luke, those blue eyes meeting his with startling clarity. “Thank you, Beru, but I need to get back.”

Luke playfully pulled the stray hairs around her face. Beru tilted her head. “Your friend...he has not come here once. Is he still—“

“He would like to come, but it is still painful for him.” 

“I understand.” She pulled a folded piece of flimsy from the pocket of her skirt. “Luke made this for him. He says it’s for your friend. ‘The nice man with the hurts’. That’s what he calls him.” She smiled, but her eyes were suspiciously bright. “How can Luke...he’s like you, isn’t he? I mean, he has powers. How else can he know about a man he’s never met?”

Qui-Gon rubbed his hand over his beard. “He is.”

“Oh.” Beru’s gaze had fallen to the sand at their feet. Her chin trembled. “Owen...he’ll be devastated.”

He grasped her arm. “He is strong in the Force. I will teach him how to harness that strength.” Qui-Gon stood back, folding his arms. He thought of Shmi Skywalker. He had made her the same promises, in this same place and the pain was so sudden as to be a bitterness at the back of his tongue. “The Force can protect him better than you or I.”

Beru hugged Luke close. “But does it love?”

 

——-


	3. Chapter 3

——-

By the time he returned to the adobe, it was dark, though the wind remained stifling. He untied the bags of food from Oloo’s saddle and set out her dinner and water. 

The door slid open, and cool, moist air wafted around his face. Obi-Wan had got the swamp vap working; he quietly hummed his approval as he unbuckled his boots The lights were off. He checked the chrono over the sink. It was still early, but Obi-Wan had not waited up for him. He put the groceries away, setting containers down in cupboards carefully. The oatmeal, fruit and juice were gone, he noted He drank water and ate a sweet biscuit; Beru had refused to accept them all. He wiped his hands on a dish cloth and walked across the tight space, seeing Obi-Wan in his usual place on the sleep couch. 

Qui-Gon shed his clothes and washed the film of sweat and sand from his skin and hair. 

When he stepped back into the main room, he sensed Obi-Wan stirring. He pulled up his side of the blankets and settled beside the younger man. He felt for a heartbeat.

“It’s still there.” Obi-Wan whispered.

Qui-Gon’s palm rested against the steady rhythm. He had done this every night, since wresting him from Anakin’s bloody custody. In the beginning, it was desperate reassurance amid uncertainty . Now, it was simply an act of comfort. Obi-Wan’s life pumping on. “You did well with the vap.”

Obi-Wan captured Qui-Gon’s hand, brushed his lips across the knuckles, then tangled their fingers together and pulled the hand down. 

And down, down.

“I missed you.” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon could only barely make out his profile in the moonlight. He let Obi-Wan’s hand guide his. He had no need to check for his own heartbeat—his blood pounded in his throat. He cupped a hot, hard length through fabric and could not help the moan that escaped him. 

Their life was so small now. The two of them, the days, the nights. He could not remember what exactly had changed to make Obi-Wan reach out for him in need of something besides friendship. Qui-Gon had not understood, until Obi-Wan kissed him deeply on the mouth one evening, and stroked the hair out of his face like a lover would. He had been—- _still_ was—-conflicted about these interludes, because Obi-Wan was fragile, and Qui-Gon had first known him as a child. 

_You are not my father. I need you. I need you. Please._

“It’s still there,” Obi-Wan said again, rolling his hips once, and the suggestive meaning thrummed in Qui-Gon’s loins. His Padawan had been so proper, the consummate rule follower, but always with that glint in his eye. Here was the glint, the mischief, the passionate part of him untethered. 

Qui-Gon smoothed the hair around Obi-Wan’s ear and kissed him there. As a Jedi Master, he had been accustomed to releasing his physical desires. But he was a man, too. “I missed you. Anyone would miss this.” He breathed against the sleep-warm neck, and let his fingers wander between Obi-Wan’s legs. Slow. It had to be slow. Just grazes to start with. 

Obi-Wan pressed forward into Qui-Gon’s hand with a broken gasp, desperately aroused. 

“There is no hurry.”

“I want…”

“I know.” Qui-Gon caressed a hip, a flank, ghosted his fingers across clothed buttocks before returning to the source of Obi-Wan’s struggle, and giving a few firm strokes. He could almost see the frenetic hot desire sparking in the Force. It was easy to forget that Obi-Wan was still a young man, and had never taken any vow of chastity. He laid kisses on the slope between his shoulder and neck. The skin there was not smooth or fair anymore. 

Obi-Wan pulled his tunic back into place. 

Qui-Gon moved on to his jaw, temple, tasting soap and sweat. “I want you. Every inch of you.” His voice was soft, a sigh amid the warm blankets. “Every inch of you is beautiful, Obi-Wan. If I could go back, if I had known you wanted _this_ , with me, I would have found us a quiet place after your Knighting, and taken you there. I would have taken you every night since then.” Obi-Wan shuddered and Qui-Gon’s cock thrilled at the image. 

Suddenly he sat up, and pulled Obi-Wan onto his back. He stroked the side of his face, the pathways of ridges and scars. “I have seen everything.” He had, as caretaker in those early, brutal months, nursed each wound Anakin had left behind. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Obi-Wan closed his hand around Qui-Gon’s. His eyes caught the moonlight and Qui-Gon was reminded of when they were both much younger, and Obi-Wan’s luminous eyes untouched by shadow.. “I’m not… _hiding_. I’ve seen everything too. It’s not beautiful.”

Qui-Gon’s chest ached at the words. Obi-Wan would not bathe or change clothes in front of him. He shook his head and kissed Obi-Wan’s half-parted lips. “Your body is your own. I will not tell you what to do. Just know that I love you as you are, and long to touch you, and see you, everywhere.”

Obi-Wan returned the kiss, his fingers taking hold in Qui-Gon’s long, damp hair. “I love you. Force knows I always have. Sometimes...I just want to...just….” He seemed overcome by the sensations as Qui-Gon found his insistent erection again. “Oh...ah...yes…”

“Can I...?” Qui-Gon asked, hesitating at the opening of Obi-Wan’s leggings. 

“Y-Yes,” Obi-Wan managed, and then jerked as skin-to-cloth became skin-to-skin. 

“I’ve never been with someone so responsive. I am rewarded by every touch.” Qui-Gon ran his finger over the tip of the leaking cock, used the lubrication to slide his hand up and down rigid and needful flesh. When he lightly squeezed Obi-Wan’s testicles, Qui-Gon savored the honest, sweet sound it coaxed from the other man. “You make me feel like I’m twenty five again.”

Obi-Wan bit his lip with a small smile. His hands slid under Qui-Gon’s sleep shirt. “When I was twenty five, I would have done anything to…” 

“You break my heart. All the wasted time, “ Qui-Gon pulled him in for a kiss, pulled back as Obi-Wan’s hands roamed.. “Since when can you touch me but I can’t touch you? That’s hardly fair.”

“You are touching me,” Obi-Wan said, and bucked up, groaning. “I know you said there’s no hurry, but some parts of me didn’t receive the message.”

It was true. Qui-Gon’s hand was coated in the proof. But he was hesitant. During their past trysts, Obi-Wan had a tendency to start out strong, riding those incipient waves of arousal with intense clarity, only to lose himself in his thoughts again. Qui-Gon wanted satisfaction for Obi-Wan, who was denied so much now. And, selfishly, he wanted the chance to climax and release some of his own tension. Sometimes it took all his considerable control not to rush things along, just to thrust into the tight and welcoming heat he knew awaited him.

Obi-Wan must have caught the direction of his thoughts, because he dragged their mouths together and whispered, “Please. I’ve been alone here all day.”

Qui-Gon rose, planting his knees between Obi-Wan’s legs. Their erections ground together. Obi-Wan reached blindly for him and brushed over Qui-Gon’s straining cock with his fingers and Qui-Gon hissed. Obi-Wan had such graceful fingers. He was so good and so strong and so damn beautiful. Qui-Gon’s mind was going blank from it. He wanted to pull out his cock and fill Obi-Wan up, fill the emptiness until it was just he and Obi-Wan and the sweet in-out in-out gasping moaning rightness. Qui-Gon fumbled with his own trousers, sweat rolling down his back.

Obi-Wan tugged at Qui-Gon’s sleepshirt. “I want to feel you. Please. Just you.”

He would not refuse. Quickly he stripped and mounted Obi-Wan again. Obi-Wan ran his hands along the newly bared skin, leaving trails of shivering warmth wherever he touched. 

Qui-Gon threw his head back, looking up at the darkness, willing himself to slow down. When he risked glancing down at Obi-Wan again, the man was arranged wantonly, a picture of need despite the fact he was fully clothed. “I’m going to stretch you now.”

Obi-Wan’s beard gleamed with perspiration. He managed to nod.

Qui-Gon started to lower Obi-Wan’s leggings when he felt the man tense. He stopped and lifted his hands away. “Is this…”

“Can you...can we do this without...you seeing me? Like...before?”

The only way they had made love before was with Qui-Gon spooned behind him, in the dark. From where Qui-Gon kneeled now, he would glimpse naked flesh as soon as he slid down the leggings. He rubbed Obi-Wan’s hips. “You might like it this way, with your thighs spread.” He watched as the massage loosened the lines of Obi-Wan’s body, and he relaxed into their shared arousal again. “I know I would like it.”

Obi-Wan was melting into the bed, forearm dropped across his eyes. “Yes...need…”

It was as much affirmation as the man could muster in his state, and Qui-Gon moved the leggings enough to slide an oil-slicked finger inside him. The clench around that single finger was a nearly unbearable promise. Obi-Wan dug his heels into the blankets, gritting his teeth, but a keen escaped him anyway.

Qui-Gon took his time adding the second, and then the third finger, until he was sure Obi-Wan could accommodate him. “I’m going to take your pants off. I won’t look, if that’s what you want. But it will be better if you can move freely.”

“Alright...if you don’t…”

 

“I won’t,” Qui-Gon assured him. “Look at me, Obi-Wan.”

It was more difficult in the dark, but Qui-Gon held his gaze as he removed the leggings completely, and parted Obi-Wan’s thighs. He felt the faint tremble along the muscle, settling into the warm space and stretching himself over Obi-Wan. Slowly Obi-Wan brought his legs up around Qui-Gon’s waist, and his arms around his neck. 

“Is this alright?” Qui-Gon asked, brushing stray hairs off Obi-Wan’s brow. 

“Yes, but it would be _more_ alright if you would...just…”

Qui-Gon chuckled against his ear. “If I would just…” and he eased his cock inside. He braced himself on his elbows and pressed deeper, his head falling onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder. 

“Is that what you wanted?” Qui-Gon whispered. 

“Y-yes…” Obi-Wan’s hands wandered down his back, nails digging in at the first thrust. 

Qui-Gon growled softly. His arousal was already edging towards climax. Obi-Wan had always been beautiful, but seeing him lost in half-lidded pleasure, flushed and open, flooded Qui-Gon’s senses. He had to look away before he succumbed—gazing out at the neutral stillness of the night. Decades of practiced Jedi control was feeble defense against Obi-Wan Kenobi. Every time he pushed into the tight warmth, he felt surrounded by love, and he was caught between wanting to push deeper or just hold Obi-Wan in his arms and kiss him and remind him how precious he was, he still was, even now. 

It didn’t take long for sweat to pool where their bodies met, even with the vaporator working again. Qui-Gon swept his dripping hair back. “Alright?” 

Obi-Wan held onto Qui-Gon’s shoulders. “I’m alright. With you.”

They had always been right together. Different than the connections that once bound Qui-Gon to Anakin, or his own Master, years before. Obi-Wan was a steady, pure flame in the Force’s firmament, and it had taken Qui-Gon a long time—too long—to understand how much he cherished and relied on that energy. 

Qui-Gon settled into a long, searching kiss, fingers of one hand cradling Obi-Wan’s chin. This was how he liked it best: achingly slow, a communion between bodies and the Force. They were joined there, too, and he savored the rare openness from Obi-Wan. He wished they were always this close, without walls, the past crumbled and carried away like the desert’s dust on the wind. For a moment it was an overwhelming thought, and he smiled down at Obi-Wan, their foreheads touching. “You are more than water. Or light. Obi-Wan...I love you....”

Obi-Wan tightened his legs around Qui-Gon and pulled him in deeper. Tears slipped from the corners of his closed eyes. 

And then Qui-Gon felt that familiar tension bleed through the haven they had made. Obi-Wan was shielding from him again, trying to downplay the pain spreading through his joints. 

Qui-Gon kissed his clenched jaw. “Stay here with me.” He kissed Obi-Wan again, drifted his hand down to stroke a slender hip. He brushed against Obi-Wan’s flagging erection, concealed his own wave of discouragement. “Stay with me.”

But Obi-Wan was going away. Qui-Gon could see it. He had never felt so helpless. He wanted to be enough for Obi-Wan, to give him this much-needed release. He guided Obi-Wan’s face with his hand so that they were looking into each other’s eyes, a breath’s width apart. “Do you know how much I love to be inside you? To feel your body take me as you take no one else?” He shifted, to hit that spot that made Obi-Wan writhe and moan. “That’s it. Feel that. Again and again. Sometimes we are just these needs. And it’s good, so good, with you.”

Obi-Wan’s hands were sweaty; he could barely hold onto Qui-Gon’s back anymore. “Can we...do it another way?”

“Of course. Of course. Just tell me what you want.” Qui-Gon slid out of Obi-Wan and leaned back on his knees. 

Obi-Wan sat up. He ran a hand through his hair and bit his lip, hesitant. “How about I ride you?”

Qui-Gon’s cock throbbed at the suggestion. “You could make a man come talking like that. Just tell me how you’d like me.”

Obi-Wan crawled onto his lap, facing away from Qui-Gon. He guided the cock to his entrance and sank down until he was firmly seated on Qui-Gon and began to move. Qui-Gon embraced him from behind, tucking his chin over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “You take me, all of me, so beautifully. Beautiful Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan was riding him through the crests of pain, gasping. 

Qui-Gon reached for Obi-Wan’s cock, and it laid, soft and quiescent, in his hand. Still, Obi-Wan continued to impale himself at an increasingly mindless clip, more sweat slicking where their bodies met. Yet his cock did not respond to Qui-Gon’s touch or the deep penetration.

Their attempts always ended this way. And this was the moment Qui-Gon always felt his own desire for orgasm fizzle out. He held Obi-Wan tighter, placed a calming kiss to his bearded cheek. “It’s alright.” 

Obi-Wan clenched his muscles around Qui-Gon. “No,” He whispered, “I need...I need you.”

Qui-Gon smiled, letting the bittersweetness swell within him. “You have me, Obi-Wan. We have so much more than just this.”

Obi-Wan tried to keep going, gasps quickening to hitching sobs, until Qui-Gon lost his erection. Discreetly, he pulled out, and crossed his arms around Obi-Wan’s chest, rocking him. 

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan rasped in the darkness. 

“No,” Qui-Gon shook his head, “I don’t care about that. I love you. I _love_ you.”

But Obi-Wan was going away, behind a fortress that even Qui-Gon could not infiltrate. He climbed down from Qui-Gon’s lap and disappeared into the ‘fresher.

Qui-Gon stayed on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

————


End file.
